How Does Your Garden Grow?
Copyright© 2017 by Mark Gander
Chapter 64
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 64 - David Howard is fed up with his life in the Mafia-controlled state of New Jersey, even if it is the only state with a working government in the post-apocalyptic world that exists since Fireball Day. Between his mob-loving (literally) wife Andrea and his psycho gay ex-friend and boss with benefits, Steven, David is more than ready to call it quits. He just won't get to do it alone.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Crime Humor Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Paranormal Demons Cheating Sharing Slut Wife Incest Uncle Niece BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Rough Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial White Male Hispanic Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Squirting Voyeurism Menstrual Play Public Sex Nudism Politics
1700 hours, local time
Tuesday, 30 June, 2015 (23 months since Fireball Day)
Dubuque County Courthouse
Dubuque, Iowa
“So, Topeka is ours. Lock, stock, and double fucking shotgun barrels. Kansas is mostly in our hands, well, under General Mike Hawkins for now. This war is over, but God knows where our esteemed warlord Russell Rao will go for his exile,” Colonel Felix Mendoza, the Iowa Free State Militia’s Chief of Intelligence, smirked.
Major General Raines Seltzer leaned forward, his knuckles whitening around the edge of the briefing table. “Spare me the victory lap,” he growled. “We might’ve vanquished Rao’s ‘Army of the Union’ and all that jazz, but Kansas City’s still under the damn Nation of Islam. There’s going to be a war with our erstwhile ally there soon enough.”
“Yes, and they’re going to kill my brother. The prophecy is clear. My brother, my husband, our Prophet here, will be assassinated by one of them, but he will be resurrected as an immortal, supernatural being. But he will still be slain. On the Sixth of July, the second anniversary of Fireball Day. And that’s next week, mein Gott!” the Prophetess Serena Kurtz-Howard, the German half-sister of the Prophet David Howard and one of his more recent wives, became a little upset as she recalled the near future.
“Thank you for caring, sweet sister, but as you just noted, I’ll be resurrected the very same day. And then I will lead the war against those Holy Rollers in eastern Kentucky like nobody’s business. Those Jesus Freaks have it coming!” the Prophet David Howard, Governor of Iowa Free State, reassured his sister with his hand on her naked ass.
Serena backed her ass into his hand to enjoy the grope, and then Lieutenant Brittany Coleman put her hand on the other cheek to fondle it, the aide winking at both of them. Then Gretchen Howard, a fellow German and another wife of the Prophet, pulled him in for a deep kiss, as did Denise, Andrea, Melanie, Jenny, Amanda, Connie, Colleen, Claire, Mercedes, Salome, Karen, Kaitlyn, Piper, Violet, Jordan, Lena, Elena, Fujima, Azita, Marjorie, etc. The Prophet’s beloved wives and even his husbands chose that moment to kiss him passionately, a gesture of solidarity as well as affection for their lover. Even Attorney General Constance Buck, only an occasional lover, made out with him as a way to shower him with attention.
Lieutenant Governor Casper Novak cleared his throat, interrupting the impromptu makeout session with urgent news. “We’ve just received word from Arkansas—six former bikers were publicly executed in Little Rock by the New Christian Republic. The Duggars made an example of them for racketeering.” He adjusted his glasses, lips tight. “Footage shows them being stoned to death by the locals. Some real Old Testament, Saudi Arabia shit.”
“Wow, they’ve definitely turned on their old partners in crime now that they don’t need them anymore,” Tozroman, the demon who served as Secretary of War, said as he pulled away from kissing the Prophet.
Lieutenant Daniel Orange, the other military aide, added crisply, “Saint-Georges is now the focus of the final offensive of the Maritime Provinces Coalition troops, who are about to finish off the Sacred Dominion’s last capital.”
“Au revoir, Brother Antoine! Good riddance, too. Now that the Army of the Prairie has linked up with Michigander Coalition and MPC forces and formally partitioned the Dominion’s former territory between them, the end of that theocracy is very imminent. Just as well. The only theocratic state that should exist is a Havenite one, because we’ve actually met God and his angels and serve Him, remember? Not as prominently as the Lawgiver and his sister and other wives out west, but even so,” the Prophet smiled at that news as he slid a finger up Serena’s ass.
She moaned, pressing back against him with a shudder. “Before I knew I had a brother, I used to fantasize about having one,” she confessed in a breathy whisper, her German accent thickening with arousal. “And once I was old enough, I imagined fucking him—how he’d pin me down, how he’d make me scream.” Her fingers dug into the polished oak of the briefing table as his thumb circled her clit. “Turns out reality is better.”
The Prophet chuckled delightedly, his other hand tightening in her hair. With a slow roll of his hips, he slid into Serena from behind, one thick finger pressing into her ass in rhythm with his thrusts as he took her snatch. Her gasp echoed off the courthouse walls, mingling with the muffled thud of flesh against flesh. The radio blared more news, more reliable and less gossipy than a year ago, but still not perfectly accurate, still needing verification at times.
“¡Atención! This just in—Blanco insurgents have seized Santiago de Cuba from Rojo forces,” crackled the announcer’s voice, punctuated by static. “Eyewitness reports claim the city’s central plaza is littered with burning Soviet-era tanks and the bodies of executed Party commissars. Santiago, the capital of Cuba since the fireball destroyed Havana, is flying rebel banners financed by the Miami Free State.”
“Castro is spinning in his grave now,” Cory Howard laughed as his mother, Violet, sat on his lap to ride his prick.